Severus looked awful. He looked as though he had neither washed nor shaved nor changed his clothes for days; added to the fact that he had obviously been drinking heavily, it was a daunting prospect. Sirius knew how he'd feel too, resentful, hostile; he knew from experience that the last thing a drunken mess wants is a well-meaning visitor. He could remember the times he'd thrown Lupin out for assuming his sympathy did anything but join the general nausea of a carefully cultivated hangover.

He didn't wait for the invitation that wasn't going to be forthcoming, barging past Snape instead and leaving him the option of vacating the premises or joining him in the shabby living room that made Grimmauld Place look like a palace. As it happened Snape found a third choice and opted for it, striding past Sirius without a word and opening a door onto what looked like an inner hallway.

Sirius could hear him tramping up the stairs as he tried not to take stock of the miserable surroundings. He wondered if it had been here that Snape had been brought back to when he left Hogwarts every summer; this mean place that seemed to host a million bad memories. As Sirius sat trying to work out what to do next he felt something jog his memory like a sickening flash, something Lucius had said to him a long time ago when they were boys, under the covers in Lucius's bed in Malfoy Manor. It all seemed so clear now to Sirius; he could even remember the occasion. Lucius had been eighteen, Sirius fifteen, and the Blacks and the Malfoys were having one of their awful parties for Voldemort downstairs, and he and Lucius had sneaked away for a party of their own, somewhere that Narcissa wouldn't hotly pursue the reluctant fuel of her fancies.

'It might be awful here, Black,' Lucius had said in the plumy accent he'd affected that would stay with him for the rest of his life, 'but at least I don't get beaten.'

'Neither do I,' Sirius had replied defensively, 'not unless I really deserve it.'

'Severus does,' Lucius said seriously, and even the callow youth that Sirius had been could sense his concern for something he didn't really understand. 'I wanted him to come here for the summer but he wasn't allowed, his father wanted him back up north. I think he wanted to see his brother anyway.'

'I didn't know he had a brother,' Sirius remembered remarking with disinterest.

But Malfoy had looked away, as though he were upset or frightened of something. 'I wish he hadn't gone, Black. I've a not very good feeling about Severus's father.'

Sirius understood what he meant now, what he hadn't much cared about then; Snape had hardly been a friend when they were at school. He could feel the unspeakable secrets these walls had beheld, the atrocities visited on a young boy; he knew what kind of atrocities they would be too. They would have nothing to do with a smart slap on the face, or even a father's belt on a quickly bared bottom: hasty anger, tears of forgiveness, all finished in a few minutes, no scars on either side. Something quite different had taken place in this house; he could feel it. He was frightened to wonder what had become of that other boy, the boy he had not known about; he wondered if Lucius knew.

Sirius felt something like helpless rage rise up in an attempt to choke him. He didn't want Severus in this place, remembering things that had happened here, thinking about James, drinking himself into some sort of oblivion. Sirius felt himself shudder, as the house seemed to close around his senses in rebuke for witnessing its poverty, its ability to give shelter from only the elements of weather, as though it had lacked the compassion to care for the souls in its charge.

He found himself remembering visiting Lupin's old family home in the northwest of England a couple of times as a boy. It had been every bit as poor as this place; but like the Burrow, it had been kind and welcoming, as though it said, "This is all we have, but come in and share it with us". Spinner's End had a different message. This hostile house had no warmth to share; it sat alone in silent witness. Sirius knew the difference had nothing to do with relative degrees of poverty of anything but the soul.

He lit a fire in the blackened grate; he suspected Snape hadn't lit it in the three days he'd been here. He wondered if Kingsley had come inside this house when he came to arrest him, but he suspected not; for some obscure reason he couldn't explain even to himself, he hoped not too. He supposed Snape had been waiting inside the front door for him; he doubted this house ever welcomed visitors.

It had all happened too quickly for Severus; Sirius understood that now. Even his decision to stay on at Grimmauld Place had been made before he was ready to make it; he hadn't had time to grieve for James, and Sirius knew that whatever claims Snape made that they had been finished meant nothing. He didn't want to push Severus but he had to make him understand that he should go back; under whatever terms he cared to make, but he had to leave here. Even if he went to stay with Lucius for a while, Sirius wouldn't even mind that, but he could not bear to think of him sitting alone in this dreary Muggle town, in this dreary little house. He was so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Snape had come back downstairs.

'I don't know what you think to achieve by coming here, Black, but I do not want to listen to any well-intentioned speech you may have prepared,' he said in a flat tone. 'I would rather you left now.'

'I want you either to come back to Grimmauld Place or go to stay with Lucius for a while.'

'No thank you.' Snape began to turn away.

'There aren't any strings to the offer, you know. You don't have to sleep with anyone ... or have a relationship with them ... or ... Damnit, Snape, at least have the decency to hear me out.'

'I have things to do, Black, and I have to do them on my own.'

'What things?'

'I have to kill your brother, something I can surely avoid a prison sentence for as he has already informed the Ministry of his death whilst I was under arrest ... I have to track down what is left of Voldemort and destroy it ... and I ...' He looked away as though his thoughts were too big to put into mere words. When he turned back Sirius almost gasped; he had never seen a more tortured soul in his life. 'I'd forgotten,' he whispered, 'I still have to avenge him, Black ... I'd forgotten about that.'

Sirius stifled his sigh as he nodded his understanding. 'I know you do,' he said quietly. 'I have to too. So let's just get a few things straight.'

'I know what you're trying to do ... and I appreciate your kindness ... but I want to do this alone.'

'Well, damnit, Snape, but life's a bitch, and she's given you passengers.' Sirius gave him a tight grin. 'I've had to send Lupin to stay with Lucius just now; he's very vulnerable. I want you to go and stay there; make that your base if you want.'

'Does Spinner's End offend your sensibilities, Black? Considering the dump you come from, I should have thought that unlikely. Of course, perhaps you miss the dirt.'

Sirius thought that sounded better, a bit more like the Snape he knew. He let his eyes tour the room again. Snape was right. Whatever was wrong with Spinner's End it was immaculately clean; every old book and worn rug and shabby chair was spotless. It only made the place feel even more hostile. 'No, it doesn't offend me. What offends me is what you're doing to yourself.'

'That, I believe, is my prerogative. I am a free man again. Now go away, Black ... and make sure Lucius does not call in your wake.'

'You selfish bastard,' Sirius snapped at him.

'I beg your pardon?' Snape flared his first real reaction.

'You have duties ... you have bloody obligations,' Sirius went on, warming to his anger. 'Or maybe you're too wrapped up in your own self-pity to recognise them.'

'Good try, Black,' Snape replied, 'but not good enough. I have no obligations but to myself.'

'Oh, yes you do. You have an obligation to Lucius. You had better make sure he doesn't end up like James. Because if he does it won't be Pettigrew you come up against, or the aftermath of the Wizengamot, or any wrinkled old Dark Lord, or upstart of a snotty-nosed Death Eater. It will be me ... and believe me, Snape, you'll wish you'd got your ticket to Azkaban when the going was good.' He reckoned that should be almost enough. Snape was standing with his mouth half-open; at least he was registering something. 'You have another obligation you haven't even bothered to find out about,' Sirius sneered. 'You think you loved James? I doubt it. You were in love with the pathetic triangle you were caught up in without the guts to let go.'

'That's quite enough,' Snape gasped at him.

'Is it? I'll tell that to his son when you've squandered the only chance he has of growing up the way James fought for all his life. Because you were too selfish...' He stopped short; it was enough, too much. Snape had turned away. He stood with his head hanging and Sirius walked past him to the front door. 'I'll be at Malfoy Manor. Make sure you're there by tomorrow evening or I'll be coming for you. You might be able to hide from yourself, Severus Snape, but you can't hide from me.' He slammed the door behind him.

He almost turned back, almost didn't have the bottle to leave the door of that miserable little house whilst the sound of the rattling lintel still echoed in his head; he almost didn't have the bottle to give him whatever privacy Grimmauld Place had denied him. He could see that now; see what was wrong. 'I'm sorry, Severus,' he whispered to himself as he made his way down the row of houses to the end of the street. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

*****

'Did you see him?'

Sirius nodded. 'He's not in a very good place, Lucius.'

'Spinner's End?'

'Yes, but that wasn't what I meant.' Sirius rubbed his hand across this own unshaven chin. 'Can I stay here tonight?'

Malfoy's nod was carefully non-committal. 'What if he goes back to Grimmauld Place?' he asked.

'I told him I was coming here.' Sirius didn't want to go back to Grimmauld Place, to the house empty of everything but ghosts of his own past. He knew he would just sit and get drunk in the horrible kitchen, trying to get rid of the images of the man he had left up north. Anyway, Lupin wouldn't be here until tomorrow morning, and Sirius didn't want to leave Malfoy alone; he was beginning to worry for his safety.

He felt Lucius come closer. He needed Malfoy tonight, the peculiar brand of comfort of his generously yielding body. He was so different from Severus, but Sirius knew Snape would never be a taker, not in the way Lucius was. He wondered if he could ever love anyone the way he loved Lucius Malfoy, wondered why he'd lied to Snape ... and himself; maybe because Lucius was every bit as lost to him as James was to Severus. But for tonight he'd pretend, the same way he pretended whenever he was with him.

*****

Severus had almost called him back, almost. He felt an obscure sense of loss as the front door closed and he listened to Black's footsteps clipping down the weedy slabbed pathway of the tiny front garden, the creak of the gate and the reluctant swing back as the echoes disappeared up the street. Only once he knew he was really gone did he finally allow himself the luxury of thought. It hadn't been Black's fault; that lay with him alone. He had virtually invited him into his bed, knowing where his affections lay; knowing that what Sirius had done for him had been done for James. And Black was right, he did have obligations; to Lucius and James's boy, and all of the others whom he'd fought for, for so long.

Snape knew he wouldn't catch up with Voldemort now, not now that Regulus had spirited him away with Karkaroff, out of his own way. Voldemort, or whatever was left of him, had indeed occupied the ruined house at Godric's Hollow; but he was barely alive from what Snape could tell. By the time he had answered Regulus's invitation, disguised as Lucius, Karkaroff had already gone on ahead to prepare some sort of safe house in Eastern Europe and taken Voldemort with him; from what he could gather it would be a long time before that particular Dark Lord was any kind of force again. Something troubled Severus about that, something he couldn't quite put his finger on; it was as though whatever had accompanied Karkaroff had scarcely mattered any more.

Even now Severus could see the remnants of the Death Eaters were dividing into factions; those who wanted to take less extreme avenues back into mainstream politics were looking for him to lead them, at least they were looking for Lucius to lead them. And then there were the others, Regulus's band, who seemed to think that, young as he was, his shoulders were wide enough to assume the mantle of Dark Power, using Lucius in quite a different way. Severus knew he would only be a throwaway figurehead to them, to be disposed of when it became convenient.

He could tell there was something else before he was told. At first he had suspected Regulus had kept what remained of Voldemort alive and safe for a reason of his own; it was a frightening enough prospect. And then the final twisted irony of it all had been when Regulus had asked him, still assuming him to be Malfoy, if he could persuade Severus Snape to join him. He thought Severus could help him metamorphose along with the rest of Voldemort's power to a new and even greater leader than they had ever had, not a tainted crossbred poor relation like Riddle had been, but a fitting thoroughbred successor to Salazar Slytherin, with impeccable bloodlines like Salazar's own had been before the Muggle trash had sullied it.

It was only then that Severus allowed himself to acknowledge what he had begun to suspect: the presence Sirius had sensed, Lucius's apparent inability to do anything but hear Regulus out; it fitted uncomfortably now. Somehow Regulus had already undertaken some sort of transmutation with part of Voldemort; perhaps what he had sent away with Karkaroff was either a red herring or an empty husk. Severus wondered just why he needed his help. He had been left with little option but to shrug Lucius's shoulders and take his leave, promising to stay in touch with him and begin to carry out his instructions he had given him at Malfoy Manor the day before.

Why the two meetings? Severus had asked himself, unless Regulus was checking that he was able to flex his muscles from a distance, that Malfoy would come to him when bidden. Whatever it was, it suited Severus; he had master plan of his own.

*****

He had found himself, not back at Malfoy Manor, but at Spinner's End, and almost had to question himself as to why he had come here when warmer welcomes beckoned. It was only when he felt the coldness of the wretched little house permeating his bones to meet the chill inside him that he understood the crushing blow his senses had been dealt that James's home had been desecrated in the way it had. That the rooms in which they had occasionally made clandestine love, on the few occasions when James was alone in the house, even though they were burnt beyond recognition, had been defiled by the presence of such evil, was something Severus couldn't come to terms with. He could find no outlet for his rage in this place, with its own rooms despoiled with equal but different atrocities.

But now he knew what he would do; he'd bide his time and use Lucius to keep tabs on things and make sure that he was protected as best he could. Black was right; he had obligations and he had to make sure he was equal to them. He supposed he should stay here tonight, in this home of the nightmares of his youth. He let a smirk cross his lips; it would be best not to catch Lucius and Black ... that would serve nothing.

He stood from the uncomfortable chair, not even remembering when he'd sat down, and tried to warm his hands at the fire Black had made as he felt the ghosts of the past attempt to creep upon him. He straightened his shoulders and climbed the stairs slowly. He would meet them now; he would meet them face on and put them away forever ... he had no room for passengers any more.

He paused outside the door of the tiny back room as though to prepare himself, trying to tell himself he was immune to this; it couldn't hurt him any more. He had not been in this room since the morning after Alexus had died, since the day he had turned an Unforgivable Curse on his own father and Tobias Snape pulled back in a fear of his eldest son that he never quite got over. Too late, Severus had been too late; had he had any idea of his own power earlier his brother would still be alive ... he would never come to terms with that guilt.

He found he'd opened the door as gut-wrenching bursts of memories he hardly recognised crowded in on him; recollections of a heavyset man looming over a small dark boy whilst he lay face down on his bed and wept into the pillow. Flashes of the rage he'd felt overriding the pain and humiliation as he tried to blot out the sounds of his brother's weakening cries as his own body was defiled too, by another man, a stranger who had paid for the privilege. He had turned his head to his brother only once, at the sound of a different, more sickening thud, the sort of sound a small boy's head would make if it were slammed against a wall. He had been just in time to see his father collapse on top of Alexus, seemingly spent at last, just in time to see the now silent tears from the boy's eyes joined by a small steady stream of blood from his nose.

He sat on the bed. It still had the faded pale blue coverlet and lumpy pillow Alexus had cried into. Severus closed his eyes and remembered, summoning the memories from where they tried to hide from him in the corners of his mind. He could almost feel Alexus as he had held him until his sobs became muffled against his chest, until the younger boy slipped into a deep sleep, so peaceful that he never woke from it; it was a better place than the one he'd left behind.

He remembered the morning when he woke with the motionless cold form of the boy still pressed to his own breast, the hushed nervous tones of his parents followed by a buzz of frantic activity. He remembered as though it were yesterday, his own grim satisfaction, and the shocked fear and incredible pain on his father's face, as Severus's Cruciatus Curse knocked him down the stairs when he tried to take Alexus's body from him. He remembered the furtive glances for months on end, and the startled guilty looks if anyone knocked on the door, as Spinner's End retreated even further within itself, to sweep up its dark secrets and pretend they had never happened, as Severus sank deeper and deeper into a black pit of hate of everything around him, and the world began to forget he had ever had a brother.

It was finished, like so many other things in his life. He stood up and took a long steadying breath, and found he was looking out of the window to the spot where he had buried his young brother. Every time Severus had planted a tree on the unmarked grave, Tobias Snape had cut it down, until the day he finally drank himself to death. He felt his lip twist in a sad smile as he looked at the weeping cherry; how big it had grown. In all of Spinner's End it was the only pure unspoiled thing. Severus nodded slowly to himself, and finally let the curtain fall back into place.

He would leave here now and he would take Alexus's remains with him; he could not leave him here alone in the cold uncaring ground with nothing but a tree to love him, because Severus was never coming back. He was ready now; he would face the world again, and if he had it within his power he would make sure that it was a better place when he left it, to leave some decent thing in memory of James and Lily and all the fallen ... and a small dark boy nobody else remembered.

As he turned to leave he was stopped in his tracks by a tiny tap on the window, and found he had to stifle a gasp. He had almost forgotten about them; in the midst of the memories of the black despair of the days that followed Alexus's death, he had almost forgotten. He flung the window open and the fairy flew in. She nodded to the weeping cherry, to where the branches moved in what looked like a breeze that affected the tree alone.

'If you take him you must take us also, Severus Snape. He is our charge for all time.'

*****